Everything I do , I do for you
by Sorrowfulchild
Summary: A Boku no Chopin one-shot as per requested bymy winner in my Escape fanfic contest . So here you are my dear Lord Kharl , a cute but long one-shot between Liszt and Chopin ! With some fluff ! Hope you like it .


**A/N: hey guys and gals. So I had a contest back in December , and my winner requested a Bkou no Chopin fanfic , so here it is . I did my best despite only having limited info , on the manga itself but anyway I hope you like it ! :)**

_**Music comes From The Heart, untouched by the sands of time.**__ - A qoute i was told in my piano class in in freshman year of highschool , its always stuck with me , so i though it would be appropriate to use for this fic. _

Chopin closed his eyes, a small smile creeping to his lips as he raised his head languidly and savoured the sweet melody that breezed through the air. It was a simple tune, something that was delicate and familiar, though the blonde was certain he had never heard it before.  
Perhaps it had echoed years ago within the walls of mansion he resided in. That seemed plausible. He vaguely remembered the finely lacquered grand piano that stood majestically in the hall, coloured glass windows causing soft lights to bounce and glitter across the jet black finish of the instrument.

Chopin remembered feeling awed whenever he walked up to that piano. It was so grand and sturdy; delicate and fragile. He recalled beautiful music echoing the corridors so hauntingly throughout his youth; remembered how hypnotized he had been after the first song he heard that had led him to learn on his own.

Yes, it was probably a song that he had heard all those years ago , when he first started playing the piano .

He lowered the damp cloth into the sink, breathing silently through his nose as the ghost smile flickered and widened on his lips.

The music was so sweet and tender, he could almost see those wrinkled, deft hands flutter across the polished keys and creating music so simple and. . . beautiful.

Chopin felt his smile widen sheepishly.

He had been quite the prodigy in his youth, shocking the entire town when he had been discovered with his musical talent. It had been quite interesting to see the reactions on the adults' face; he recalled snickering loudly before getting chased off to do chores. Liszt had been accepting enough – then again, he always had been when it came to the scrawny blonde boy – though Chopin sensed his acerbic mannerism through that compliant mask. He hadn't really cared, because it was Liszt, and Liszt was always the logical one who acted twice his age. But still with some immaturity still there.

Chopin opened his eyes, gazing fondly through the window in front of him and the sink at a familiar mess of brown long shoulder length hair that was currently sprawled on the ground and tangled.

Ahh, Liszt. Liszt's had always been quiet and nonchalant throughout his youth. Liszt was more open, more expressive; but He had been. . . Mmmmmmm he didn't know- regimented? He was an orphan; and at such a young age, too. But the brunette lived in the castle, bound to the strict rules and etiquette. All sorts of nonsense were imposed on him, robbing him of a proper childhood that could probably have made him a warmer teen – a gentler man. Maybe that's why he had been so closed off and cold. Maybe it had been because he was forced to grow up too fast. His poor Liszt . But even so , he was still kind hearted to him.

Chopin hummed the tune softly, only slightly surprising himself with the familiarity of the melody as he continued wiping down the dishes in the sink.

He often wondered why Liszt had hung around a ball of depression three years younger than him. He had been undoubtedly naïve as well, Chopin biting down on his lip to stop the grin from widening.

Of course, Liszt had been the one to approach Chopin Let's see. . . it was because. . .

Oh, right. A young Liszt had heard him playing one day , and since then had become friends , and somewhat even more than that. After the day he claimed to have fell in love with his music.

Chopin chuckled softly.

Chopin had always been small for his age – small and feminine-looking. His features were soft, and his skin was very fair. Chopin remembered getting overwhelmed by others by the delicate beauty as a 9-year old he possessed. He recalled, vaguely, that His appearance was a result of his mother a delicate women of her own league.

Never let out to play. Never given the chance to mingle with others. Always having work to busy himself with.

Chopin remembered Liszt telling him that he had felt such relief at being able to meet the blonde. And then he had flashed a very rare smile, causing the young Chopin to forget his mangle of thoughts at the then-cryptic words and grin brightly in return.

All he remembered was wanting to see Liszt smile more.

Heh, he remembered all sorts of pranks they did together that gave him that rare pleasure.

The music jumped lightly, softly echoing as a pedal was undoubtedly pressed.

Chopin broke away from his nostalgia.

That was odd.

He heard it again, his ears pricking as the melody continued seamlessly, notes pouring out into a soft tune as keys pressed incessantly one after another. The music was still lovely, but. . . something seemed. . . Incredibly odd though , even though the music that was produced came out beautifully.

Chopin resumed his chore, setting the plates in a rack to dry, though a thoughtful frown was plastered on his lips.

How strange.

Liszt's eyes were half-lidded as his hands flew across the keys with much experience, his fingers moving by themselves automatically as he played an old song – his favorite song – that he had learned when he was younger. He was seated in front of a sandy brown piano, sitting upright against the wall a few feet away from his house. He was in an unused room of the housing complex, testing out the old piece of equipment Someone had dragged up after tuning. When played rather than the one in his room his excuse was something about missing the old songs, and old memories. Whatever he meant.

Liszt remembered how much he despised learning in that drafty castle. It was cold and bitter; expectations piled upon more expectations. Forced to learn all manners of complex nonsense and useless knowledge that would prove useless in the real world. He was an 'intellectual' now, and though he hated admitting it, most of the things he had learned from his youth came in pretty handy.

Still. He hated it.

Just as much as he remembered hating music lessons.

Why did he even bother learning this song, anyway?

He felt something warm on his hand, blinking in surprise as he felt warm breath prickle at his skin. Liszt glanced sideways, pausing mid-cadence, catching the all-too familiar glimpse of soft blonde hair and tender blue eyes.

Just then, a more familiar, more. . . right tune started playing.

Liszt lowered his gaze as Chopin guided his fingers across the wooden keys, playing a song according to memory, causing all sorts of old recollections to resurface in the brunette's mind.

Liszt lowered his hands to his lap, leaning against Chopin's warm chest as both the blonde's hands continued playing that old, familiar tune; his body heat engulfing the younger man.

"It sounds beautiful ."

Liszt blinked, looking up from the polished keys to the scrawny blonde young man sitting cross-legged on the floor by him.

"I learned that song. I really like it. It sounds beautiful."

Liszt frowned slightly at the younger man, dropping his hands to his lap with a tinge of impatience. He knew that Chopin liked it; it was the only piece he played on eternal repeat though the brunette knew very well that he had learned at least 10 other songs.

"This is what I learned to play," he stated simply, his frown deepening as Chopin scrambled up and ambled towards him. The blonde sat down, his hip bumping the older boy's twice as a signal to move over. Liszt obeyed, shifting to the left on the leather bench to make room for the other.

Chopin's skinny fingers began floating up and down on the keys, producing light music that was as sweet as the music Liszt had played earlier, but. . . more simple and more gentle in sound.

Chopin paused a moment, noting that the older boy's eyes had fluttered closed.

"Did you do that yourself?"

Chopin nodded, realizing that Liszt's eyes were still closed. He quickly replied with a, "Yeah."

Liszt opened his eyes slowly, looking intently at the younger boy.

"It's easier to play, and more fun to learn. Here, I'll teach you."

Yes, Liszt remembered why he had bothered learning that song.

He allowed a small smile to play at his lips as the music died slowly and a pair of warm arms wrapped loosely around his neck. A soft kiss was pressed against his temple. And more placed on his neck , traveling up and down his throat . Until it came to a stop before the blonde whispered in his ear . This made him smile , looking into the blondes eyes before kissing him full on the mouth . He turned and picked up his blonde lanky lover and carried him to their room , to waste the night away In each others arms.

Liszt liked it because Chopin liked it.

Much like he remembered doing so many things, all for Chopin. Until the very day Chopin had died.

-END

**Alright , well that's it for my boku no Chopin oneshot . Well Kharl I hoped you liked it ! I tried my best to portray the characters as best as I can . **

**~Sorrowfulchild **


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